


Try Not To Take It Neat

by nothing_rhymes_with_ianto



Series: Home Brew [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-12-13 00:06:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/817636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothing_rhymes_with_ianto/pseuds/nothing_rhymes_with_ianto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras is starting to realize that there's a person under there, hiding beneath the flatness and the drinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Try Not To Take It Neat

**Author's Note:**

> It's hard to make titles that all have to do with alcohol or bartending when you don't actually know that much about either. Oh well.

Grantaire is racing around the counter like a headless chicken when Enjolras sits down on a stool. Gerald Houcheloup, the actual owner of the little bar, is there too. He only comes in and serves up drinks when it's too busy for Grantaire to handle on his own. The two of them are criss-crossing behind the counter like some bizarre dance. Grantaire hands him a glass of water with a smile, but doesn't even get to open his mouth for conversation before he's called away to serve someone else.

Enjolras, for once, is content to watch the action in front of him as Grantaire pinches off a sprig of mint leaf and places it delicately across the ice of someone's mint julep, as he salts the rim of someone's margarita glass with graceful movements, as he slides from customer to customer with practised ease. It's lovely to watch, and Grantaire's fingers are precise and gentle.

He tends to forget that Grantaire is an artist. So often he's used to looking at him and seeing nothing but a bartender who is just as intoxicated as his patrons. But now that he's paying attention, he can see that there's a passion that's there when you actually stop to look. Enjolras wonders why the bartender seems to try so hard to hide it, why he speaks with such nihilism when it's obvious that he's got something to care about. He shakes his head, derailing that train of thought, since he knows it's only going to devolve into circles of disdain. He doesn't want to think of Grantaire that way. Combeferre had said there was more to him than drunkenness and cynicism, that he was more three-dimensional than Enjolras thought, that under the flatness was a person. And now Enjolras wants to _know_ , wants to see what makes Grantaire want to hide himself and pretend to be less than what he is.

The more he thinks about it, the more he can remember catching glimpses of Grantaire. Honest, grinning laughter with Courfeyrac in the corner, a joyful but tipsy dance with Jehan around the establishment. Discussion with Combeferre over the merits of various Renaissance painters. And eyes glowing and focused as they stare up at Enjolras as he speaks.

After half an hour the pub finally slows down and Houcheloup goes off home or shopping or whatever it is he does when he's not at the bar. Enjolras doesn't know, and honestly isn't interested. He's far more interested in Grantaire, who has dragged a stool over and is perched on it in front of him on the other side of the counter.

"Hey," Grantaire pushes his hair away from his face and huffs out a breath. "Never did get a chance to actually say hello. Sorry."

"You were a bit busy, it's okay."

Grantaire nods and reaches behind him with one arm, plucking a bottle of scotch off the back counter and conjuring a glass from somewhere underneath him. He pours himself four fingers and takes a healthy gulp.

"At least it was just busy and not busy and _weird_ like it is some days. Some of the people that come in here when the rest of you aren't around are, well, strange is putting it mildly."

Enjolras imagines Grantaire trying to deal with the more bizarre individuals he's seen coming out of the bar, and he can't help but grin. "You'll have to tell me about them sometime."

The bartender hums through his nose and pushes his hands through his hair again. He has a piece of mint leaf stuck to the side of his neck, and Enjolras has reached out and plucked it off him before he's even thought about it. Grantaire frowns a questioning face at him, and he holds up the bit of leaf.

"Oh. Thanks. Must've scratched my neck and it stuck there." He smiles a thanks and their fingers brush when he takes the leaf from Enjolras to thrown in the trash under the counter.

They're silent for a little while. Grantaire shifts awkwardly, looking uncertainly at him from under his lashes. Enjolras watches him fidget and wishes there was some way he could tell Grantaire that he wanted to get to know him without the other man thinking it's some joke. He looks down at their hands on the counter. There's paint under Grantaire's fingernails where his hands are cupped around the glass of scotch, and _oh_.

"You said you paint, right?" The question is innocent, but Grantaire's expression is immediately wary, defensive and closed off and Enjolras almost doesn't want to continue. But he wants to know Grantaire, and he wants to know why he looks like that when asked about his art. "We talked about it the other day."

"Yeah," Grantaire answers slowly. "Why?"

"Well, I mean--" What is he doing? He's never really stumbled over explanations like this before. "I was wondering if maybe-- if you could paint signs or banners for us for the protest?"

The defensive frown softens into simple confusion. "I guess? I don't really have the materials, though."

"I do. You can come over to my place and work on it, if you want. That way I can tell you what we need. Feuilly can help you too, if you like."

Now there's a small smile on Grantaire's face, and Enjolras is surprised at the rush of warmth that comes from knowing he put it there. "No, that's all right. I can do it. When do you want me to come over?"

"Whenever's best for you, really."

Grantaire glances at the rusting old Roman numeral clock over the door. "Well, I get off my shift in about twenty minutes. Eponine needed extra money so I let her take some of my usual shift."

"Okay, I'll stick around then. Want me to give you a ride, or do you have a car?"

"No, a ride would be good. I don't actually know where you live."

Right. Grantaire's never been to his house. Grantaire isn't part of the Amis that he sees on campus every day, or the people he's known for years. Grantaire's only knowledge of him is here, in this bar, standing or sitting on a table to make his speeches and build his movements. Grantaire only knows Enjolras the orator, not Enjolras the student or Enjolras the regular person.

And if he's honest with himself, Enjolras only knows Grantaire the cynic, Grantaire the dark-eyed drunk, Grantaire the infuriating sceptic. He'd really like to get to know the other Grantaires, too.


End file.
